My Final Weapon is Hatred
by Technorganic Nerd
Summary: Professor Zündapp swore on the last fraction of his life that he would exact his revenge on C.H.R.O.M.E and finally kill Finn McMissile. All he needed were weapons, some of which derived from his emotions...
1. Act I: Unchained

Here we go, readers... My first fanfiction. Please review nicely, and no flames will be accepted. In fact, I can use them to burn Chick Hicks.

Another thing as well: this fanfiction was inspired by the song "The End Has Come" by Ben Moody. So all things considered, enjoy and leave feedback! (Make sure to vote for my poll on my profile! I won't update any further unless I have enough votes.)

[All characters mentioned in this work of literature are copyright to PIXAR Animation Studios. All events that occur are crafted by the author and any relations to realistic events are completely coincidental. All plot and story elements are solely in the hands of the author. All works of music mentioned are copyright to their respective owners.]

**Act I: Unchained**

They stole everything from him. They stripped him of his license to wreck havoc upon the world, stuffing him in the jail cell inside C.H.R.O.M.E's prison, tossing his soul and spirit away to rot amongst the other unfortunate fire starters of evil. These agents were his worst nightmare and vice versa.

None, in spite of that, were more haunting than the dreaded high-ranking Finn McMissile.

Oh, how he desired to crush him into a million shards of metal.

His weapons, henchmen, lair, everything was discovered and were either demolished or emptied out completely. Dead were many of his loyal lemons, imprisoned was the liar Sir Miles Axlerod – although you couldn't really consider him a "sir" anymore – and his schemes of wrongdoing and wickedness had been whisked off into the sands of history, done for, no longer a threat to the planet Earth.

For three entire years it had remained this way.

_For far too long it has been this way_, the Professor glanced at the steel ground, deep in thought. _It's time this Manufacturer-forsaken nation experiences the peak of my brutality against the greatest agent of C.H.R.O.M.E. In fact, this nation is _far_ overdue for the monstrosity of its worst nightmare._

All he needed was a weapon, a mechanism to brawl against his enemy...

_For the final time._

He would spend countless of hours designing it, polishing it, and executing its attacks on his predators. Yes, this layout of "The Last Impression" would end perfectly, with his target perishing. When he himself passed, he would leave the realm of the living knowing that he successfully drenched C.H.R.O.M.E in tragedy.

From merely envisioning this his facial features lit up and a one-sided smile stroked on his right side. Mild laughter soared from his mouth in delight. _Oh, I take such pride in my occupation, don't I?_

Nothing, not even the combination of protestors could block him from achieving his long-awaited goal. They would tremble before him, begging for mercy, for a chance to continue living in freedom. They would let his every evil deed slide past their instincts of purity and allow him to get away with every crime ever instituted into the law. All of the particles that shattered from the mayhem of the World Grand Prix would levitate from the surface and form what would be massive destruction towards the espionage industry.

If only he were able to escape from this rotten jail cell.

Naturally Zündapp would have grabbed a nearby metal tool such as a hammer to break himself free of being a captive, yet not even a can of oil rested near him. Nothing besides the walls were caught in the proximity of his reach, which wasn't very extensive due to his tiny stature.

_For once a getaway involves an amount of clever reasoning, _the mint green Janus Zündapp smirked at how theoretical the staff of C.H.R.O.M.E had gotten when planning the blueprint of the prison ward. _Finally, I am challenged to use my mental capacity._

The Professor checked his surroundings to watch for guards. None idled from his point of view. He spotted a number of security cameras hidden in the gloomy shadows of the room and a dead, broken microphone for efficiently releasing or encasing subjects from their cells. So far nothing proved to be much of a threat to his scheme.

_Wunderbar._

He whacked his tire against the sturdy metal bars as hard as possible. It was difficult to do so without a sharp object or metallic device within his grasp, he had to take note of that. Ten times later he resorted to crashing his side against them, although not too harshly to avoid passing out.

No thoughts besides the goal of murder wandered about his conscious throughout the next several minutes of repeating the exact process. Zündapp swore to the Manufacturer above that he would at least damage the coldhearted cylinders blocking him. _And I will make my breakout known, _he set his level of determination, ranging from one to ten, to a ten.

All of those separated thoughts drifted back into their rightful places when he discerned the heavily beaten wires in front of his windshield. Now was the appropriate time to complete the task of actually breaking all Hell loose.

Professor Zündapp once again perceived his conditions. No cars located around the four corners, no tiny objects slipping through the passageways, no nothing. Only oxygen and his breathing occupied the barren lockup.

_Excellent, _he revved his aged engine and prepared for the solo rebellion.

If the cameras captured his flee, he would disregard it. Dodging attacks from here and there would be rather straightforward; agility was one of his most affluential qualities besides insanity (as he was informed) and brainpower.

_As long as they have no clue as to who I am after, everything is shaped according to me._

In mere seconds the car swerved through the broken bars and into the hallway. Alarms sounded from all corners imaginable, alerting the keepers that their prisoner had broken through. The colorless tone brightened to a scarlet red hue as the alarms echoed throughout the facility.

"Agents of C.H.R.O.M.E_," _the Professor quietly spoke since what felt like forever, "I have returned to creep around your thoughts and torment you."

A 1972 Honda Coupe abruptly barged into his view, loaded gun in tire.

"FREEZE!" he hollered in his thick Cockney accent, "EITHER YOU COME WITH ME OR HAVE YOUR LIFE TAKEN!"

At first startled by the sudden outburst, the captive Janus Zündapp masked his reactions behind a blank expression. It morphed into one of the most nefarious smiles the prison guard had ever experienced.

In reply to the barked order, he let the flow of words become unchained, "I'd prefer that you are the one that falls consequence to sinful doings."

All the bullets aimed at the miniature mechanism crashed through the hind walls of the jail. A feminine scream of agony was in earshot, indicating that either the woman was horrified or struck by a bullet.

The dark Honda became so distracted by the cry that enough time was left for the Professor to pound him on the hood, rendering him unconscious.

He raced from the jail and passed through passageways and skidded to a halt, smack dab into the center of the tenth floor of the building, completely surrounded by armed C.H.R.O.M.E agents. Before anyone could act, though, he leaped over them and followed the slicker, silent path that was decorated with nothing but laser cannons on the sides, targeted towards him.

Similar to his encounter with the prison guard, no shot affected him one bit as his tiny frame granted him access to a larger probability of survival from the attackers. His judgment on the result of his escape from when he was locked in the jail cell proved to be quite accurate to the present time, considering how strenuous it was for criminals to break free from the premises.

However, as Professor Zündapp persisted to steer clear of getting shot, he couldn't help but reminisce about when he was confined by all those agents. One of them appeared to be... familiar. A silver-blue paint job, closely resembling an Aston Martin DB5, a moustache for a grill, turquoise eyes...

_Wait, _he paused near the ramp to the exit. _I believe I have unearthed my target. Finn McMissile, you are in for the thriller of a lifetime._

As he conducted his descent down the ramp, that was the only thought plastered to the bulletin of his mind... Until he stumbled across a verification system.

"Please enter the password," the machine, eqiupped with a keyboard, droned in a masculine voice. Oh, how he grasped substantial joy in guessing passwords.

He attempted a random botch of numbers and letters, nonetheless he was face-to-face with a "try again".

Frantically, he used his hacking skills to uncover the password before he would be hunted down by the C.H.R.O.M.E cars. The operation contained much coding and swift keyboard motions, but he finally managed to get ahold of the password.

Then the agents zoomed in on him.

"Professor!" a familiar posh British accent echoed across the narrow hallway. "I strongly recommend that you do not move any further!"

"Finn McMissile," the German Janus Zündapp grinned his grotesque smile, revealing his rather unattractive teeth. "So it has all come down to this? I'd say not unless your friends are dead, so very dead."

The Aston Martin, mildly taken aback, was evoked of Leland Turbo, a loss which still remained impossible for him to overcome completely. He regained his composure briefly following the mentioned nightmare that never eluded him.

"...May I ask that you lower your weapons and for your friends to do likewise so that I may resume my current task."

They did not obey; alternatively they closed in on him, demanding that he be seized and thrown back in the prison if he wanted to live.

In a desperate endeavor, the Professor pressed the Return button on the device, opening the camouflaged gates for him to progress into the elevator section. He then snatched it from its position on the far right and projected it towards the wall, generating a hole sizable enough for him to retreat from.

The Professor presented his pursuers with one last glance before hurdling from the opening. The agents chose not to follow, for they believed that their enemy would perish by dropping ten stories off the ground.

They were validated wrong.

Opposed to their theories of his death, Zündapp clung to the roof of a structure, hauling himself onto it. He pinpointed another roof to jump to and performed the action. Again and again the 1957 model repeated the manuever without misfortune. He overlooked the police cars and helicopters trailing him down in the depths of the night, the night in which was alive with hunting and hunger – _his_ hunger.

_Better luck next time, McMissile, _he proceeded to jump from roof to roof, once again working his mind to communicate with him.

_But maybe there _won't_ be a next time._


	2. Act II: Penmanship

Hello fellow readers! I have returned with another chapter, signifying that I actually got myself to stick to my schedule... by listening to epic music! Well, you voted for this story to be updated first, so I promised you that. I have nothing much left to say other than: Please leave feedback, I need it to improve my writing skills. Read and review! (And I stink at car anatomy, which you will see why later in the chapter.)

[All characters mentioned in this work of literature are copyright to PIXAR Animation Studios. All events that occur are crafted by the author and any relations to realistic events are completely coincidental. All plot and story elements are solely in the hands of the author.]

**Act II: Penmanship**

Professor Zündapp breathed heavily as he ducked behind the dusty titanium barrier that was known as a door. An hour of hot pursuit by the police, which still ravaged on, guided him to this abandoned one-story facility, which was currently confusing to tell the condition of the inside. Besides the flashing lights of the helicopters heating his exterior, that's all he currently knew due to the sleepy atmosphere of the wee hours of the morning, causing the room he sought refuge in to be too dark for his vision. To be honest with himself he could've sneaked into something a trifle more refined, but then remembered that it would be easier to spot and would be conspicuous in a crowd.

In silence he heard the voices of police cars and helicopters chatting softly, despite the fact that he couldn't decipher a thing they were saying. From the sound of it, their tones were full of rage, but what could they be angered about?

_Oh, I understand,_ the Professor was struck with realization, scowling slightly. _It must be me, thank you very much. It's an absolute _honor _to be wanted for multiple crimes._

He continued to wait in anxiety for the chopping of helicopters to die down, panting even more and just about ready to pass out.

_Yes,_ _I might be getting too old for this. A sign that this is truly my final force of evil._

Promptly after sinking lower on his miniature tires in fatigue, a dangling light in need of a replacement began to quickly flicker on and off. Four times it performed this action until it dimly brightened the interior atmosphere.

Now Zündapp possessed the capability to peer into the facility he had been cloaking himself in and decide whether or not this hiding place was satisfactory enough. His assumption of it being rusty and unclean was correct, for the normally creamy yellow walls were soaked in dirty substances as well as the auburn concrete ground. An outdated computer rested on a wooden desk in the corner near the door.

_That could prove to be of good use, _his expression brightened.

A shelf with neatly stacked books remained in the far left corner, and an untended-to chest that was about his size resided close to the desk.

Once he swore that he would not use any doors when being hunted down by authorities to avoid being caught red handed, therefore he would abide by his promise. Casting aside his behavioral betrays and slyness, Professor Zündapp was a trustworthy person. Promises were locked in the core of his heart and secured for as long as that person lived.

The second portion, however, was false information. He only kept vows to himself, because he felt as though no one could be trusted when he was around.

That was why he took pride in working as an isolated individual.

Thinking for a long while, even for his top-level IQ, drained him of most of his energy. _We shall talk next time,_ he struggled to communicate with his conscious. _I would love to see what you have in store for my revenge on C.H.R.O.M.E, dear mind. _

The late 1950's model, to prevent maintaining a severely weak state before the climactic event, took action and-

Collapsed on the ground in a weary heap.

* * *

The forceful rays of the afternoon sun could not burn through the walls of the abandoned shaft, they could only heat it to a warm temperature. They did, however, enrich the city with life, whether it be animal, machine, or plant. It stretched across London like a ribbon around a present.

Finn McMissile basked in the lovely hour of twelve o'clock in a reserved manner, sipping on a can of fresh oil. Today just so happened to be his day off, a rare occasion due to his high rank and constant on-the-go schedule, thus he could temporarily relieve the stress from his missions and other personal matters.

Still Professor Zündapp invaded his thoughts. His breakout last night really had him fueled for a heated conversation or duel, which did not end up occurring.

_For Chrysler's sake,_ he quietly sighed. _Can't we strike at least one more discussion?_

When he was in jail, Finn tended to visit him from time to time, mostly once every four or five weeks. Even though they remained enemies, their chats were toned down and not about killing each other... most of the time. It took a very long while for Zündapp to stop grunting whenever he entered, nevertheless they neared forming a tie of trust by the second year.

_Like he would ever turn over a new leaf,_ Finn grimaced, ignoring the soft images of their harmless talks.

The spy secretly wished that he would be this respectful and peaceful when he wasn't in prison. He desired for him to actually follow the law, though he knew all ready that it wouldn't occur anytime soon. _Some things just don't change, do they?_

"Finn," a deep Cockney-accented voice was calmly directed towards him.

The silver-blue Aston Martin whipped around at a ninety degree angle, his liquid stream of thoughts solidified, to find an ebony Honda Coupe also lounging near the lobby.

"Nathan," he was astounded to spot him there. "I take it you are doing quite all right?"

The other C.H.R.O.M.E agent replied, "Yes, I am, Finn. And you on your fine day off?"

"Fine, thank you. Say, are you recovering well from the hit you endured from Zündapp?"

"Yes. In fact, I just got released from the infirmary two hours ago."

"Oh, you did? Marvelous job, chap."

"Thank you."

"You're quite welcome, Nathan. And I'll see you later today."

"You too."

The spies, without another word muttered, parted towards their intended paths that tilted away from each other.

_Oh, you are going to get it, Z__ü__ndapp,_ Nathan furrowed his brow in determination. _You are going to pay for the damage you have inflicted on our organization, physically, spiritually, and mentally._

Again, the day was like any other civilian predicted it to be: uneventful, relaxing, smooth, and crammed to the brim with sunshine. No cries for help could be heard, no suspicious activity was ongoing, and nothing could possibly ruin the day in which was rare for an urbanized area like London. It positively set the perfect example for how peace should be run.

No one but the C.H.R.O.M.E staff, in spite of that, knew that today was instead how "the calm before the storm" should be conducted, at least when an evil perturbation is lurking nearby; they would, without a doubt, not favor performing like a laid-back, not battle-ready Roman empire against an army of Huns.

* * *

Zündapp fluttered his eyes open to the same room, even less dingy than when he last remembered it. Nothing had changed, thank the Manufacturer.

It didn't benefit him that he rarely slept when he was imprisoned, so that was a reasonable explanation as to why he suddenly fell unconscious. To lighten things a bit, not a soul had burst into his state of his weakness, especially a soul that sided with the other faction.

With Finn McMissile's faction.

But the Professor wouldn't let his unstable emotions cease him from working on his weapon. He lifted himself up on his tires and glanced one more time at the abandoned room.

"What could be an efficient way to craft a weapon,_"_ the Janus Zündapp questioned himself as he examined every particle, "of mass destruction?"

A pause. He looked in front of him and found an answer. "...Books, hm?"

The Professor drove up to the shelf stacked with publications. He picked up one that was titled Gone With the Wind \- _no, thank you, not helpful – _set it back in place_, _and skipped that lowest shelf altogether because it was labeled "Literature". Skimming the higher shelves, he unveiled the truth that the resourceful books, the anthologies of educational information, were located on the most elevated ledge.

"Well, what do we have here," Zündapp sarcastically spoke in a monotone voice, "A rack in which I cannot reach on my own."

He scavenged every bit of the facility, only to find nothing that promised quality leverage. Everything was either too miniscule or enormous.

The time was now to put the Professor's last resort into action: leaping onto the shelf. He didn't care if he dented himself, all that mattered was getting more ideas as to what to build.

Zündapp jumped. He struggled to attach his tires to the wooden ledge without toppling it over, for that would create a suspicious noise. His body felt as though it was being widened as he preserved an upwards stance.

Pain coursed prominently throughout his front, attempting to tune it out while reading the title of each jumbo-sized hardback book.

_Hm, _Zündapp narrowed his eyes at each installment's topics. _Statistics? I don't intend to study mathematics, I was an A-student. The history of Earth? Appealing, but no. A collection of orchestra sheet music? Ah... Not my cup of tea._

Just when he was about to give up searching and mitigate his agony, the torn-up, aged book in between a guide to traveling across countries and a classical poetry compilation caught his dull, gray eye behind the monocle.

100 Ways to Unleash Your Wickedness With Weaponry. That equaled the name of the title, surprisingly handwritten. _Yes, exactly what I have been hunting for. Excellent._

With a swift movement the book disappeared from its place. The mint green mechanism leaped with agility off the sill, book tightly grasped and recovering from the daring motion he achieved. At an average pace, he headed west and towards the desk, carefully laying the resource for evil besides the computer.

_Speaking of the computer, _Professor Zündapp pondered,_ I shall see how it will aid me on my endeavor for vengeance._

A tire was all that was obligatory for him to online the desktop. The opening image appeared on the screen, which was black with nothing but a logo on it that belonged to the Windows company. He all ready could tell due to his strength of easily knowing what model a certain computer was, and this make was from 1999.

While waiting for the computer to completely load, Zündapp opened the book that he grabbed from the bookshelf, coughing mildly as dust exploded from the interior. It cleared in order for the initial page to be comprehensive, which was also not written by a printing press. The purpose for this was explained simply on the page after the first: "Copyright 1979" was printed with remarkable penmanship on the lowest line of the paper.

The Professor seemed wary about actually using this for a weapon idea. It was published thirty-five years ago, not three, so he reckoned that he would have to use a fraction of his imagination to pull off the ultimate threat to every national, possibly international authoritative cars.

Thankfully, to avert getting lost in the publication, a table of contents was listed, filling up two entireties of worn pages. The amount of pages total rounded to five hundred, whereas most volumes for havoc-wreckers lasted three hundred. _Impressive, _the Janus Zündapp sniggered.

His weapons of choice tended to be radioactive, ergo he decided to try something different yet more effective. Leafing through the divisions, he found different types of weapons listed, such as "Sharp and Pointy", "Explosive", and "Exotic". What called his name in yearning, though, was the end section labeled "Poisonous".

"Yes," the Professor grinned from fender to fender in delight as he flipped the page and inaudibly read off the weapon type's description, which stated, "Poison. It causes death in a flash and can wipe out several in ten seconds flat. Deadly to any respiratory, circulatory, immune, digestive, and lymphatic system, poison is one of the most dangerous methods of unleashing fury upon anyone."

He skipped through the following couple of legitimate handwritten paragraphs and stumbled across the one that defined the drawbacks of choosing the method.

"However, having an exceptionally strong immune system is recommended for using poison. There has been a recorded accounts of a villain spreading poison darts to kill her enemy and accidentally being shot by one. Her life vanished in less than five seconds; she was only thirty when she died and still an up-and-coming menace. To solve this problem, please wear a heavy-duty mask whenever holding or utilizing poisonous objects."

That was definitely an issue. His immune system wasn't the most indestructible aspect of his bodily functions, meaning that he couldn't fend off illnesses very well. His not-so-young age did contribute to it.

Wearing a mask sounded like a sufficient way to prevent himself from killing not only the enemy but his own self. All he needed was to actually have one in front of him.

Which it was. A leather mask flanked the side of the fully loaded computer, not a scratch decorating it. _Why do I have the feeling that this is a set-up?_ Zündapp raised a brow in confusion. _Because if any of those rotten, good-for-nothing agents planned this, I will murder them in a pool of their own oil. _

The image of the black car that tried to block him from escaping the jail, dead with freshly-spilled oil flowing from his corpse entered the realm of his imaginative half of his brain. The Professor tried to keep in mind that this was a "what if I win" kind of deal. He didn't want to think about the "what if I fail" deal; no, not yet.

All that he really wanted to lock in his conscious was how to make the poisonous weapons from the book with a few modern touches of his own. First, though, he had to protect himself from joining the numbers of fallen cars.

And all that he did to accomplish that was to put on the leather mask.


	3. Act III: Sentiments

Guys, I am terribly sorry. I apologize with all my heart for making you wait two months for the next chapter; school, other events, and writer's block were getting the better of me. Just think, though: two chapters are left (not counting this one), so I'll work as hard as I can from here on. However, still expect slow updates (because that's just me).

Enjoy this chapter and remember to leave a review! Feedback is welcomed with open arms!

[All characters mentioned in this work of literature are copyright to PIXAR Animation Studios. All events that occur are crafted by the author and any relations to realistic events are completely coincidental. All plot and story elements are solely in the hands of the author. All works of music mentioned are copyright to their respective owners.]

**Act III: Sentiments**

Slipping the mask on did the Professor good. Protection, as he knew, was vital to his survival and a successful plot. Despite the fact that it had aged considerably, it acted as if it was newly spawned and without flaw. All illnesses were disposed of and nothing harmful injured his internal or external system.

However, that was not the only factor that contributed to the finalization of his weapon. Toxic and otherwise harmful chemicals were found in the far left part of the facility, so he had more to work with. Metal was scattered in a tiny drawer under the toxins, and there was a surplus amount of it to be used in the "ultimate weapon".

The Professor thought this idea was a clever one, for sure one that he hadn't plagiarized. He grabbed a sample of a few of the poisonous substances he would use in his device of destruction, mixed them together, and _Poof!_ One of the deadliest materials he ever created. It was a scarlet red color, the shade of a conflagration.

The shade of pure hatred.

Instead of labelling his creation solely under the category of "poison", he considered it to be a blend of that and radioactivity, his long-time specialty. Of course, modern tweaks to the twentieth-century design of the ideal weapon were necessary; after all, C.H.R.O.M.E. always updated their technology whenever they could.

For two days and nights, Zündapp worked on it, always keeping a wary eye and ear(?) set on the urban surroundings outside. He waited for some car to sneak on him and die trying, but it never occurred. _What a fabulous couple of days these have been, _the mint green automobile thought, showing his unsavory teeth. _No one around to pester me or lug me back to the C.H.R.O.M.E. jail. Who knows? Nobody could even notice my absense until the minute I strike. Now _that_ would be a pleasure._

Finally, Professor Zündapp finished the construction of his apparatus. With ideas incorporated from 100 Ways to Unleash Your Wickedness With Weaponry (he would forever remember that awesome book), his destructive imagination, and past experiences, the final product was one that was more than meets the eye; that's saying a lot.

It was a gleaming silver crossbow, a latch attached to the handle that could hook onto a car's tire. The bow was flexible yet sturdy, and the darts were violet. The killer toxin that the Janus Zündapp produced was stuffed into each one attentively and with evil-tainted care. However, the most eye-appealing part rested on top of the crossbow, which was a miniature pistol. Radioactivity silently lurked within it like sly foxes in a forest, waiting to pounce on its prey and slaughter it.

To be honest with himself, the Professor deemed his creation beautiful, absolutely stunning._  
_

"Such a gorgeous instrument of destruction," he sighed in sarcastic awe, undazed by his efforts. "So effective, such devastating beauty. I've done such a marvelous job, somebody ought to throw me a celebration party."

As the aged Professor stared his gray irises into the steel, cruel-hearted soul of the inanimate object, his conscious began to feel... uncomfortable, haunted. As though it tripped over a protruding rock and stumbled into a terrorist, he knew the reason behind this: Finn McMissile, once again, toyed with his mind.

He thought he was rid of his archenemy until the upcoming climax, but NO, the secret agent just had to stalk him on the inside. _That British snob can't seem to leave me be,_ he narrowed his eyes at nothing in particular. _It's no wonder Leland Turbo perished.__  
_

Zündapp smiled at the mentioned accomplishment and hit to his enemy, although anger later regained control. It caused him to stiffen in pain and mutter a short string of swear words.

A flurry of images promptly flickered inside him, playing themselves like a movie. First there was his capture at the site of the World Grand Prix, the taser-wielding Holley Shiftwell and ever-so-stylish Finn McMissile watching him be carried away by the Police. The next one began with his first day in prison, feeling nothing but hatred, failure, and the icy bars. Then a month passed, and Finn was in front of him, striking a conversation with the hesistant Professor. The image fast-forwarded a year and found the helpless criminal still talking to his archenemy and-

"STOP IT!" he snapped himself out of his mental torture and the flashing photos disappeared. "Stop tormenting me with your flashbacks and petty reminders!"

Professor Zündapp boiled deep inside, wanting to ignore the sentiments that tugged at him relentlessly. He couldn't take it anymore, he couldn't. Leaning his fender against the unsanitary wall, he felt warmth touch his metal inside. Emotions grabbed ahold of his conscious, crying out in agony in response to the pain.

"Curse you, McMissile," he whispered and raised his voice to a crescendo, "CURSE YOU ALL!"

Tears longed to rush down from his windshield to express his emotional strife, but he couldn't let it happen. He didn't want anyone, _especially_ Finn, to see him like this. "No," he whispered, drained of his voice, "No."

However, amist his screaming and spreading wildfire of emotions, a car parked itself in front of the rusty facility, armed and anxious.

* * *

Driven by vengeance, C.H.R.O.M.E. agent Nathan Podleck searched endlessly for Zündapp's lair. He completely disregarded McMissile's advice to not find it (which he personally found to be a wise decision) and kept himself as buried in the shadows as possible during the evening, despite the fact that his paint job was all ready a coat of a raven's color. To make the adventure more climactic, the sun was halfway behind the stretching buildings of London, painting the sky a passionate orange.

In the distance, the Honda took note of a one-story, obsolete shelter that remained isolated from the rest of the urbanized area. Bearing in mind that it seemed out-of-place and suspicious, he drew himself towards it.

While doing so, Podleck whipped out his built-in sidearm, prepared for anything that may block his path. _It's hunt or be hunted, _he gritted his teeth in undying determination. _Either way, you're done for, Zündapp. Your reign of terror is finished; that's what Finn will hammer into your head._

Arriving at the rust-coated door, he prepped himself for ambush. He'd done it before, but he was uncertain whether or not he should do it. Zündapp, for one thing, was a sneaky and agile fiend, almost always catching the spy before he or she ever did anything; that's part of what made him one of the most wanted evil-doers worldwide.

"Nathan," the spy listened in to a communication from Finn. "How are you holding up?"

"Fine," Nathan responded quietly, "I think I found Zündapp's hideout."

"Oh, really? Describe it to me."

"One story tall, probably abandoned, rusty, isolated from the other buildings. It's about twenty miles away from HQ."

"Thanks, Nathan. Just in case, let me know if you need backup."

"Roger that, Finn."

Nathan refocused himself on the mission he was currently trying to complete, slanting closer to the door.

What was unusual was that Nathan heard crying and screeching - coming from inside the facility! _Is that Professor Zündapp?! _he widened his hazel eyes in shock. _This could be my chance! To actually catch him red-handed and bring him over to Finn!_

Anxiously he waited, listening to ear-piercing cries and yells. What he heard was unbelievable. Finn taunting his mind? What kind of blasphemy was this? He could hear him whisper "no" twice, but what was that supposed to mean?

He made sure to store that in his memory. Podleck prepared his weapon and let three others slide from inside him, once again ecstatic to corner the 1950's model and force him to surrender. He sighed and mentally counted down the seconds until his dramatic entrance.

_5... 4... 3... 2..._

_...1._

He jammed his side into the door, instantly budging it open. With weapons aimed and eyes as sharp as ever, he found his target with bloodshot eyes, flinching over to his newly-crafted weapon.

_Oh Ford, _Nathan realized that even four guns couldn't compete with a crossbow-gun hybrid. Nevertheless he continued to aim towards the villain.

"Finn," he whispered into his voice comminicator, "I need backup. Reach me at these coordinates-"

"So you think you can kill me like this?" the Janus Zündapp coldheartedly interrupted and stared at him. "I think not."

"Professor!" Nathan's tires slightly shook with guns in grasp. "Your doom is nearing, inching closer to you by the second! Don't make me shoot you!"

"Well, then. We're playing the game this way. How about..."

Zündapp aimed the crossbow at him and fired simultaneously, all in a split second. Everything in Nathan's sight suddenly went pitch black, and he could no longer see, hear, or feel anything.

"...No, you don't shoot me."

The Professor ambled over to the deceased body of Nathan Podleck, his oil pooling around his ebony body. The sight may have been horrendous for anyone who knew him, but he considered it a delightful image. He chuckled a trifle, and that chuckle developed into a maniacal laugh.

He dragged the oil-soaked corpse to the broken-into entrance and pushed it outside. Raising his machine up high, he crushed the black Honda, prolonging the process by three minutes. By the time he finished, all that was left of Podleck was pieces of metal.

So what if anyone suspected his murder? _As long as anyone who finds out about it is instantly killed, _he solved the dilemma. _Everything will go according to plan._

He raised his crossbow-gun into the sky and fired ten of his darts with precise aim. Five gunshots followed, and chaos immediately erupted in the city of London. Screams of terror pierced the air and could be heard from a mile away.

It was clear that Professor Zündapp truly left a scar on England.

As mayhem jolted awake and roared at the top of its lungs, the wicked German scientist recalled something Nathan said to him.

_"Your doom is nearing, inching closer by the second!"_

"My doom?" he smiled smugly. "I'm afraid it's _yours_ that is near, and now it has devoured you whole."


	4. Act IV: Culmination

So it's been over a year since my last update. Kind of proves my waning interest in this story. Along with life's duties, my growing passion for other franchises have stopped me from finishing this chapter. Hopefully the last one won't involve a wait as long as this was, because I'm doing all that I can to get this story off my plate. All said and done, here we go.

Happy holidays!

[All characters mentioned in this work of literature are copyright to PIXAR Animation Studios. All events that occur are crafted by the author and any relations to realistic events are completely coincidental. All plot and story elements are solely in the hands of the author. All works of music mentioned are copyright to their respective owners.]

**Act IV: Culmination**

He was on top of London. No, he was on top of the world, which hailed him as its one and only dictator. For dramatic effect, thunder and lightning clashed around Professor Zündapp as the rain prepared the backdrop for one final battle. His tiny, square-like silhouette temporarily lightened up with each strike of lightning amidst the darkness.

Zündapp was obviously proud of his progress, having designed the perfect weapon and murdering a C.H.R.O.M.E. agent.

"The night just loves me, doesn't it?" he smiled, living in the moment. "It's congratulating me for all of the wonderfully _evil_ deeds I have done. All it needs to do now is beckon Finn McMissile to come and face me."

Nathan's death would surely pave the way for the veteran secret agent to meet Zündapp on top of the apartments closest to Buckingham Palace. Sure, Finn vowed to never form friendships in his line of work, but in this occasion, the professor felt his relationship with his colleague was too important to overlook.

Planning ahead did also contribute to the point where the professor was now. He all ready sent a voice message to Finn this morning detailing where the latter was to meet him and why. The villain knew how to deal with his opponent and set rules to make sure everything went smoothly.

The rules were two in number, one of them asking the opponent to disarm themselves.

"When I say this," the professor told McMissile in his voice message, "I mean everything except your firearms. Do you hear me, _just your firearms_. I understand how much you love your precious, _non-gun_ toys, but tonight will be the time to separate from them. Come on, just look at me. This outdated, tiny, _lemon_ car who carries nothing in his tires. McMissile, I plead for this fight to be fair. I want to know just how strong you are without them, how you can hold up against me. After all, all is fair in love and war."

Rule number two was to go alone. "McMissile, don't even _think_ about bringing back-up. That will only contradict my earlier statement and ruin the effect I want this showdown to have. No traps around the area, either. Besides, I know you well enough."

"Here I am, Professor," a British-accented voice called Zündapp to attention. The teal Janus didn't bother turning around to know it was his long-time foe, whose voice contained a pint of anger. _That is to be expected_, he smirked away from the Aston Martin and clutched onto his weapon. _Anger in an atmosphere like this comes naturally._

Zündapp retained his cool. "Oh, how I've awaited your arrival. Judging by that last tragedy I put you through, I was starting to doubt that you would show your face to me again. My prediction must have been inaccurate. But everyone makes mistakes, don't we? Well..."

Whipping around, he revealed the silver crossbow-gun to McMissile. "I will make sure that I don't make _any_!"

Finn backed away in a jolt of shock and irritation. "P-Professor... You said that you would carry nothing in your tires!"

"Why else did I let you bring your pistols?"

The British car froze; Zündapp's logic was right, that clever little bastard. Had the little German not brought a weapon, he would just be asking for his own death. Obviously, the evil-doer was not that stupid. He did not cheat, he just wanted to surprise him, which worked. Although he had cheated before, Finn could tell that those times were gone. For now, at least, because the way he felt on top of the building, face-to-face with the villain, gave him a different gut feeling than ever before. This was not one of the Professor's usual schemes. Heck, this wasn't even the Allinol case.

This was a life-or-death, no-holds-barred situation. One would live, one would die.

"Are you ready, McMissile?" the Professor stared the gray, vengeful eyes of his windshield into the turquoise, electrifying ones of Finn. The latter gave no response for several seconds, but when he finally did...

"I'm ready as I will ever be."

* * *

One hour of tireless fighting passed, but it still wasn't clear as to who had the upper hand. Even with Zündapp handling the better weapon, Finn gracefully dodged his attacks. Sure, both of them scratched each other on occasion, but it made no difference. Besides, they were too busy exchanging harsh past memories to pierce each other's souls.

"I will stand victorious!" The Professor proclaimed amidst firing his poison-tipped arrows (none of which struck McMissile yet), sounding more mad than civilized. "Do not get your hopes up, McMissile!"

But it was true, the petite German was growing more and more unstable. His eyes glinted in an unusual manner, like he was transforming into a wild beast. Through his moon-like silver eyes, he did not perceive Finn as his usual view of an evilly sophisticated master of espionage. Instead, the suave gentlecar morphed into a hulking wolf, whose fur color closely resembled the grey-blue of Finn's paintjob. However, its eyes flashed a scarlet red as a threat to the hallucinating professor. Vicious like the Greek gods at their worst, to see it bearing that gun in its paw unsettled the mad professor.

"I think not, Professor!" The Aston Martin/wolf's voice sounded different, more malicious than normal. Holding his ground, he fired shot after shot, but all of them either zipped past his opponent or flew over his hood.

It was at this point that the two silenced themselves to focus more on the fight before them. Each miss and hit determined who would live to tell the story of the battle. The bullet that just lodged into the side of "Finn McWolf?" That could put him in greater danger of dying than his enemy. The uppercut Professor Zündapp just suffered? His physical health could drain just as quickly as a result. What if one of them plummetted from the "battlefield" and landed on the asphalt, no parachute in handy?

Certain death.

That was what the Professor continued to aim for, carefully aiming each glass-sharp arrow. He was no expert, but he considered himself quite skilled at long-distance combat (despite the current short-distance fight). Some of Finn's gunshots countered the arrows, causing mini-explosions as he inched closer in proximity to his target. Zündapp realized what his opposer aimed for, therefore he backed further towards the edge of the arena. His tiny tires then touched the back of the sad excuse for a steel fence, and Finn captured this opportunity like the unemployed being offered every job in the world. Just when he was about to make his next move...

"Professor?" a Boston-accented voice interrupted the epic showdown from above.

The two long-time enemies suddenly paused and directed their eyes towards the source of the sound, wearing agitated expressions. Fairly creepily, this was performed in unison. Zündapp's ravage delusion melted into a puddle of sleeping danger.

"Burt Jonson?" Zündapp raised a brow. "What are you doing here?"

In particular, he referred to an ebony Toyota Corolla, positioned on top of the building across from them. His teal eyes bursted with fascination, having witnessed his former boss master the art of badass-ery.

"My time in jail is up," he showed no sign of ceasing his smile. "So I thought I might spend my first week watching you face off Finn. You look awesome, Professor! With all that tension, I don't think the news reporters will be able to handle it! And that weapon of yours is really cool!"

A minute's pause separated Burt's excitement and Zündapp's response. "...Wünderbar?"

"...Well, aren't you going to go back to kicking some C.H.R.O.M.E. tailpipe?"

Finn silently took offense to Burt's comment as the Professor simply nodded. No fight started up right away, though, for he was still wary of his witness. How trustworthy was his former employee?

Burt reduced his grin to a smirk, egging on the Professor to continue his task. "Well, what are you waiting for? Defeat him!"

Zündapp finally resumed the battle, readying his crossbow-gun once more. _No outlandish visions should stop me now_, he mentally scolded himself. No joke, he never experienced the whole episode before tonight. What was going on with him? Maybe his determination level broke the scale. His desire to rip out McMissile's insides really _did_ impair his sanity. Ugh, the mind is a terrible place, and it must be stopped.

Boom! A bullet from the gun of the secret agent (who, thankfully, was not an animal) lodged deep into Zündapp's front right tire, deflating it within seconds. He cussed in German, trying his best to neglect the stinging pain. At least he could still move most of his body. Because this was factual, he dodged the rest of the incoming shots and managed to hit the well-known C.H.R.O.M.E. spy in the same tire. It lost its air just as quickly, but he was also able to adjust to the iron-hot pain.

"Oh yeah!" The helicopter containing Burt circled around the duelers as the dark car cheered. "Go Professor!"

"Crap," the mentioned car muttered under his breath, still on the move. He almost forgot that he had an audience. However, his negative feelings were relieved by the annoyed look on the aerial vehicle's face. To both him and McMissile, it screamed, "It's late enough, can I go home now?_"_

At this point, the two enemies were circling each other as a bullfighter would to a bull. Weapons in handy, they set their minds on landing a blow on each other. Turquoise eyes met aluminum, famed secret agent met equally well-known professor, and opposing sides clashed.

Finn reloaded his ordinary-looking firearm, and the Professor readied his poisonous arrows for launching. Teeth gritted, concentration gripped their senses, a momma penguin clutching her baby close to her. They nonverbally communicated and found that both were ready to take a hit for the sake of the fight moving forward.

_On three_, they counted down the seconds until they would strike.

_Two..._

_One..._

_Fi-!_

"Come on, Professor, hit him!" The helicopter-accompanied Toyota reappeared behind Finn.

The crossbow-gun wielder fired the arrow too early due to the sudden outburst. The Aston Martin scooched away from the flying arrow, struck him by bullet again, and could only watch as the arrow sliced its way into Burt's engine. His eyes widened in newly-formed terror and searing pain, screeching in at a pitch and volume so high that it hurt the witnesses' nonexistent ears. Shortly after he finished howling, a miniseries of groans expressed how he was holding up. By the way the others were cringing at the sight, it was clear that the Zündapp fanboy wasn't alright.

A final gasp escaped his lips as Burt stumbled and tumbled out of the helicopter, proof of the poison acting on its target.

Zündapp dragged himself closer to Finn to track down the falling back car, suffering more than he ever had. No screams emitted from the Toyota, An eternity passed before he finally met the ground's impact. All that remained of the fallen ex-prisoner was his crumbled, distorted form. Fresh oil puddled around the corpse, creating a sight that was difficult to miss even during the night.

In response, the dark-as-night helicopter fled the scene, eager to escape the intensity that was Zündapp and Finn's last duel. One eyewitness was dead, the other would likely break the news and cause a tsunami of reactions. The Professor mentally thanked him for publicizing the events leading up to now.

Although none of the events from Burt's arrival to his death - which the Professor was guilty of causing - were unintentional and unexpected, he didn't let them push his goal out of reach. Noticing how close he was to Finn McMissile, he immediately took advantage of his location. He yanked another deadly bow and carefully aimed, ready to end his foe's life, the one who relentlessly ruined him.

Right before he could make his move, Zündapp caught Finn's eye, and the latter realized what he was trying to do. Unfortunately, the Professor still had quick reflexes for an older lemon like him, enabling him to plunge the arrow into his body. Despite not reaching his engine, he managed to touch the side facing him. The sleeker car hissed, glaring at his attacker with whirring chainsaws in his eyes. He continued to do it while pulling the arrow out of his side and throwing it at Zündapp, who only smirked at his attempts to fight back.

McMissile's strength was definitely weakening, and to notice it in the valued C.H.R.O.M.E. agent, no medical knowledge was necessary. One tire to the windshield was the best he could do at the moment, and he barely made a dent on the Professor. Blackness started to cloud his vision, and of course, he fought it. The main problem, however, was the German professor closing in on him. He tried, he really tried his very best to resist him, but to no avail.

The next thing he knew, his tires no longer rested on ground and the wind soared upwards, not west. Yes, he was falling, and prayed to the Manufacturer that he would not suffer the same fate as Burt. A disgusting feeling coursed through his interior, it felt like he ate something that expired three months ago. _That must be the blasted poison_, he recognized the ugly sensation.

Plummeting closer and closer to the unforgiving asphalt, he could barely make out Zündapp's ascending figure in the shadows as his agony level increased from nine to twenty-nine. His enemy must have done a more-than-satisfactory job on designing his weapon if its poison affected him this much and the arrows sharper than a kabob stick. In fact, it could very well make a kabob of bodies. _What would that look like?_ Finn pondered, wanting to develop this idea.

That was cut short as his falling self slammed against the ground, life flashing before his eyes. Finn's last silent prayer of hope escaped him and the darkness wrapped him up in a nearly unescapable sack.

* * *

All of that determination, hard work, and emotional fluctuation paid off. It truly did.

Zündapp couldn't believe the sight he beheld. There was emptiness, yet there was fulfillment. No car stood on the same ground as him, but glancing at the ground far below presented two mangled corpses: one intentional, one unexpected but acceptable. To think that Finn, _Finn McfrickingMissile,_ was among them treated him to much glory and pride. The world would know of McMissile's death. The legacy of the killer would survive centuries, and C.H.R.O.M.E would meet a fiery end.

"C.H.R.O.M.E.," the victorious Professor smirked, starting his monologue. "Oh, what would it do without its best agent? How badly would his colleagues take it? Would they only mourn his passing, or quit espionage altogether... Or join him in the Heavens? Maybe I'll find out when I read the newspaper today."

Positioned on top of the steel fence (which knocked over sometime during the fight), he couldn't help but stare at Finn. He was aware that he wouldn't stare back, but that was no matter. And that Burt fellow?

"He got on my nerves," the Janus recalled the pesty personality. "But I admit, it was nice having some moral support. Thank you, Burt, for believing in me...at the cost of your life. Now, your chopper friend assisted me, too. He did nothing to stop neither me nor McMissile, simply escaping the scene to give the newspeople something worthwhile to talk about."

He desperately desired to squeal and jump for joy to celebrate his accomplished mission. Letting out all that ecstasy, after all, would benefit his state of sentiments. So he performed a single bounce, cautious with his deflated tire. Just as he landed and was about to continue his speech, his tires slipped on the fence. He received a jolt from the unpredictable movement, his facial expression switching from prideful to scared.

Like the two cars before him, Zündapp descended from the towering building for a whole minute. It didn't help that he weighed less than Finn and Burt, therefore his time falling extended by seconds. To him, however, it did not feel long at all. Actually, he collided with the asphalt before he was aware of it.

All the injuries that he ignored from earlier caught up to him in an instan, blending with the torture taken from the fall, creating a fatal smoothie of suffering that he was forced to drink. He didn't care; besides, he expected himself to either barely come out alive or wind up dead (of course, after Finn). His seasoned self, for sure, contributed to the forecast.

Everything went according to plan. The culmination ensued in a manner that got him his way. Now, Professor Zündapp could perish in peace, knowing that he succeeded at long last.

He died with a smile on his face, lying adjacent to what once was Finn McMissile.


	5. Act V: Success

Well, I finally got around to finishing this baby up. I'd like to thank those who have reviewed and read this little story; you've helped me a great deal with posting my chapters and what I needed to improve on them. Thanks to you, I just might develop those OCs I introduced (and, in most cases, killed off). Have a nice day!

[Most characters mentioned in this work of literature are copyright to PIXAR Animation Studios. All events that occur are crafted by the author and any relations to realistic events are solely in the hands of the author. All works of music mentioned are copyright to their respective owners.]

**Act V: Success**

He awoke after what felt like days, disoriented and confused. His heavy eyelids spent a lot of time adjusting to the brighter sky and - strangely familiar - landscape. His vision remained hazy and foggy throughout this period of time. No pain plagued him this time, for Death healed all of his wounds. That was good, he wouldn't want to suffer any more pain that what he did that fateful night.

The Professor suddenly bolted to awareness with the speed of Lightning McQueen. All of the events that took place after murdering Nathan Podleck crashed down on his conscious: the shooting of the arrows, beckoning Finn McMissile to duel with him, the wolf hallucination, Burt Jonson (he groaned as he recalled the name), Finn's death... His death.

That environment, though. Wasn't he supposed to have a seat reserved in the Heavens? Or a VIP pass to Hell? Depending on how his extreme actions were judged, he didn't belong back on Earth. Oh, no, he meant to live his life after death with the greatest of the great. Again, that depended on where he ended up.

"Well, well, well," a winged car fluttered beside him. "If it isn't the Professor himself."

He was a little taken back by how quickly he appeared, but he nodded in compliance with the angelic being. "Yes, it is me. And I want to know why- Nathan?!"

The voice sounded all too familiar. The old lemon thought he was done hearing it after all those years! Why was another one of his dead adversaries here? Fully jerking his body towards him, a mask of surprise took form on his features.

"I...I..." It took a little while for Zündapp to regain his composure. "I can't believe it's you. You, Nathan! What are you doing here?"

Finn's Cockney-accented pal chuckled, amused by the villain's reaction to seeing him as an angel. "Yes, it is me. Well, as you know, I'm dead, so I wound up as an angel. Now, what were you going to say before you interrupted yourself?"

"I want to know why I'm here, and not in Heaven or Hell. Wasn't I supposed to end up in one of those two places?"

"You know, I thought that was the first thing you would ask. I guess Finn told me so much about you that you became a more predictable enemy."

Zündapp pouted and showed clear signs of internal fuming. "Go on," he waved a miniature tire at the speaker, who momentarily stopped after noticing the Professor's mood.

"All righty, then. The reason why you're here is because... Hey, you should've figured this out by now! You are - um, _were_ \- a smart old maniac, where's your brain?"

The Professor stared blankly into Nathan's eyes. What was he talking about, some riddle of his? "Come on, Professor, get those clouds out of your head and figure it out! I'll wait."

Oh, dangit, he got stuck in one of _those_ situations. As quickly as he possibly could, Zündapp commanded his brain to _think, think, think!_ It was like he could hear the little soldiers inside him, obeying his orders and searching through his archives. Finally...

"Ah!" He exclaimed. "Because I sinned too much to go to Heaven but didn't sin enough for Hell?"

Nathan Podleck flipped in excitement. "Yes, Professor! That's exactly why you're here!"

Zündapp then paused, realizing what he just said. Apparently those acts of extremity that he committed didn't land him a spot in either afterlife. He earned the title of no devil, no angel. The only title he earned was "Stuck Here on Earth."

All of that for nothing.

"So..." Face-to-face with the truth, the Professor spoke up. "I'm bound to roam the Earth forever?"

"Until Hell freezes over!" Nathan demonstrated too much enthusiasm. The little scientist's spirit hurt just by listening and watching him. "Yep. You're stuck here. Now, that can't be too bad, can it?"

"How do you know?" Zündapp glared at him. "You're a product of Heaven, an _angel_ to boot."

Nathan Podleck stiffened, for his foe was correct. What would he know about living in the same realm after death if he spent his time up and above the clouds? He regretted the last sentence he spoke to the deceased car, and decided to change the subject before matters worsened.

"Well," the angel car glanced down at the very ground that took the lives of three cars that fateful night, including Zündapp's; he locked his eyes on the Professor as he began talking again. "I suppose you know why you're starting your afterlife here, on top of this very building."

"Yes," Zündapp breathed in the chilly, unwelcoming air of what had once been his battleground. "I understand why I'm starting here. The fight-"

"Don't get too wrapped up in the past," Nathan stopped him, knowing where he would have gone with the statement. "At least, not yet. I need to show you something first. Come, stand next to me."

Initially, the Professor hesitated to comply with what he was asked to do, but it didn't take long for him to join him on the edge of the building.

"One of the perks of forever roaming the Earth is that you can fly. Why don't you try it? Just jump off this ledge for me!"

"_What?!_" Zündapp shrieked, narrowing his eyes. "Why would I be so foolish as to-"

"Come on, Professor. Just do it! If you end up hitting the ground, you won't hurt yourself."

Nathan's words and promising smile coerced Zündapp into performing the task. "Ah, all right."

He bounced off the platform, still maintaining some sense of caution, and began his descent towards the bottom. Despite knowing that he wasn't going to die a second time - and in the same way - his worries grew stronger with every passing second. Soon enough, the ground was literally meters away from kissing his hood, and fear's claws clung strongly to his emotions. He shut his eyes, expecting the worst, and...

He levitated. Opening his eyes, the Professor could not taste any asphalt and felt no road brushing against his petite figure. He directed his eyes upwards and was greeted by Nathan, who flew level to him. His soft smile expanded even more; he was definitely pleased with what he saw.

"That's it, Professor!" The former C.H.R.O.M.E. agent encouraged his enemy, but at this point their rivalry was coming to an end. "I knew you could do it! Try flying around now!"

Supported by the morale boost of Nathan Podleck's words, Zündapp found the energy to take flight. He wasn't exactly sure how to explain it to anyone besides himself, but he managed to soar past dozens of buildings and cars. None of the latter noticed him, but he was already aware that no living car could see him unless some supernatural force changed that. This was okay. He ran through the walls of one of the larger facilities around London, but he brushed it off too. Also familiar with his transparency through walls, what was the point in remembering it if he didn't get hurt?

After about an hour of gliding through the sky, the Professor landed in an empty, luscious park outside of the busy urban atmosphere. Nothing but satisfied from his venture through the English city, he inhaled and exhaled to normalize his pumping adrenaline.

"So," Nathan reappeared to his right. "How do you feel about this now?"

"It's better than I thought it would be," the Professor warmly answered his question. "I actually quite like this flight technique."

"That's great to hear! Do you need anything before I head back to the skies? Questions, comments?"

"Yes! Um...hold on, let me think," Zündapp had something that he wanted to tell Nathan, but it required some scavenging for him to communicate it to the angelic car. The moment he knew what he was going to say, he let it out.

"Can you please do me a favor and tell Finn I said 'hello?'"

_I expected him to ask me that,_ Nathan Podleck's majestic smile turned upside down once his ally was mentioned. He well knew where he ended up after the end of Zündapp's little battle. How was he going to break the news to this car who worked so long and hard to earn what he wanted?

"What is it?" he lost some of his happiness, thanks to his ex-rival's saddened expression. "Was it something I said? Is everything okay?"

Still averting his eyes from Zündapp, Nathan replied, "I-I haven't seen Finn around as of late. I'm not sure I can fulfill that request for you. However, if you want to know what happened to the secret agent, I'll explain."

This spelled bad news. _Really_ bad news. The Professor feared for the worst, shivers migrating from his hood to his tires. Even in the midst of the discomfort he was experiencing, he wanted to know. What was the fate of Finn McMissile?

"You can inform me," he was barely audible to Nathan. "Let me know of what happened to Finn."

"Okay," the English angel car mentally prepared himself to raise Zündapp's awareness of the Aston Martin. "But before I give you this newspaper to read, can I tell you something?"

"Sure, go on ahead."

A moment's silence. Then: "For all of the years that your goal was set in stone, you never realized that you were hunting down the wrong deer."

As the newspaper fell from Nathan's tire and into the clutches of Zündapp's tire, he could pick up the meaning behind the idiom. And boy, did it hurt. The paper's headline didn't help, it only raised the tension he was feeling.

"TWO DEAD IN BRAWL ATOP LONDON BUILDING," the headline shouted in that all-caps font.

_Wait a minute, two dead?_ Confusion entangled the Professor. _Weren't there supposed to be _three_ casualties?_

He kept on reading, beginning with the first paragraph. Believe it or not, he was incorrect. His name was among the two, and so was Burt. But Finn?

The realization hit the tiny Professor harder than any bullet ever would. In fact, the punch it packed was so powerful that tears immediately began forming in the corners of his windshield. He tore the paper in half; he couldn't bear reading any more of that trash. Screams of failure and sorrow polluted the air around him, but only Nathan noticed the way he was acting up.

In order to escape the incoming wrath of the angered, depressed German scientist, Nathan Podleck sighed, flying away from the scene. He predicted this kind of reaction out of him, but he didn't want to become more involved with his dilemma. Besides, he wanted to give him some space to unleash his fury, sadness, and missed success.

Professor Zündapp's final weapon was hatred, and what did it give him? A prey that suffered several gun wounds, but remained in the land of the living.


End file.
